I felt the grip within her palms
I held her dying in my arms
And watched her eyes fill up with tears;
I tried to hide her from her fears.
As she lay wounded weak and cold
A child really not that old
And one much like my own back home,
But these are streets where Soldiers roam.
I felt the tears roll down my face
As she lay helpless in this place
I only came to fight for peace,
But see the death toll here increase.
My orders came that I must leave
I’m not allowed to stop and grieve
I left this child, there, alone
To die, so lonely, on her own.
Not any man can fight for peace,
For fighting causes lives to cease
And if there is a lord above
I’d tell him, you can’t fight for love.
I’ve never ever felt the same
And never could forget the shame
To let a wounded child die
I am now haunted by her cry
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem